


Without Ribbons & Bows

by misplacedmarble



Series: Keeping Christmas All the Year [1]
Category: A Christmas Carol (TV 2019), A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22198846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misplacedmarble/pseuds/misplacedmarble
Summary: Bob receives a suprising delivery which he can't put out of his mind and, encouraged by his long-suffering wife, makes a visit that may just change his life - for the second time in two days.
Relationships: Bob Cratchit & Ebenezer Scrooge, Bob Cratchit/Mary Cratchit
Series: Keeping Christmas All the Year [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597924
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29





	Without Ribbons & Bows

**Author's Note:**

> So I can't get this adaptation of A Christmas Carol out of my head! And it resulted in my first piece of fic in about ten years. I adored the portrayal of Scrooge as cold and arrogant but with that hint of childlike vulnerability (ahh the backstory!) and Bob as sarky and slightly combative rather than taking everything lying down. And while I totally loved the emphasis on needing to move forwards and not necessarily seek forgiveness for the past...it did feel a little unfinished to me, and I didn't want to let the characters go just yet... I also liked the thought that Scrooge sometimes showed hints of the person he could have been, like caring for animals, and I wanted to expand on that a bit too.

The morning of the twenty-sixth of December 1843 dawned bright, clear and obscenely loud in the Cratchit household as a great knocking sounded upon the front door. Mary mumbled and frowned in her sleep as Bob reluctantly woke to a bedroom still shrouded in darkness and yet the noise continued. Bob blearily wondered whether he had a visitor or an assailant to contend with as he stumbled into a dressing gown and to the door.

On opening it, he was surprised to find a boy as small in stature as the knocking had been loud. The boy rolled his eyes impatiently, as if bemoaning the length of time it took for Bob to answer, before unceremoniously shoving an envelope and a small package into his hands.

“Delivery for you. From a Mr Scrooge. He said there’d be no reply, I shouldn’t wait,” the boy rattled off in staccato bursts before turning sharply and making to run back to wherever he had come from.

Bob, too bemused to respond before the boy had cleared the corner, could only stare at the items in his hands while he gathered his thoughts. It was only when he started to awaken properly and register the cold air on his ankles that he slowly stepped back and closed the door.

“What was that all about then?” Mary emerged from the bedroom, just as bleary-eyed as Bob had been a few minutes before, tugging a shawl around her shoulders.

“It’s from Scrooge. Must be what he mentioned yesterday, the cheque.” Bob met Mary’s eyes and wordlessly they acknowledged the madness of the situation. _Five hundred pounds_ , and from Scrooge of all people. If someone had told Bob this would be his Christmas gift, he would have carted them off to Bedlam himself.

“And the package?” Mary queried, missing nothing as always, her eyes lively with curiosity.

“I don’t know, I haven’t opened it yet, have I?” Bob responded with raised eyebrows and a smile to soften his words.

Mary huffed, but smiled in return and turned back to the stairs. “Well, I will just have to live in suspense then because it’s an obscene hour to be awakened on the day after Christmas and I am going back to bed. It’s a bloody miracle he didn’t wake the children...”

Her last words floated down from from the landing and Bob saw the truth of what she said in the clock face; half past five in the morning. Bob briefly wondered at what time Scrooge must have risen to engage the services of his messenger, before turning to contemplate the delivery itself. He briefly considered following Mary back to bed, but for some reason leaving the items to be opened later in the chaos of a family morning didn’t sit well with him. He would rather take advantage of the quiet and stillness to consider what had been delivered.

And in any case, he was awake now, and curious too.

Starting with the envelope, he slit it open and pulled out what lay inside. The contents consisted of a folded sheet of paper along with the cheque for the promised £500 and a short and ragged note atop both that merely read:

_As promised. You will be pleased to hear that I am happy to terminate your employment with immediate effect._

_\- E. Scrooge_

Upon unfolding the letter, he discovered that it was a character reference from his now former employer which spoke of him in the most glowing terms. It praised his prodigious work ethic, industrious attitude and pleasant character, and stated that, _Mr Cratchit has shown great capability far beyond his role and I strongly recommend him for whatever employment he should now choose to undertake._

Bob was dimly aware that his mouth was hanging open slightly as he took a moment to contemplate the full extent of what the letter meant. Now he was in no means beholden to the offer of employment from Thwaites, which, while a step up in pay from where he was, remained a clerking position with few prospects. In addition to the money, having a reference meant he would be at liberty to seek even better employment that used the skills he’d gained working for _Scrooge & Marley Investment_ these last ten years.

Still reeling from this, he suddenly remembered the other small item that had been delivered. Examining it more closely, Bob saw that it was a flat, square box about the size of his palm, wrapped in plain brown paper. He smirked at this. _N_ _o ribbons or bows even now,_ _then_ _._ After puzzling over it briefly, Bob took a breath and admitted to himself that the only way to find out what was inside was to open the damn thing. He slowly tore at the seams of the package, trying to tamp down on the excited Christmas morning feeling as much as he could. After all, Christmas had been and gone now and even if he had apparently experienced some sort of epiphany, it was still Scrooge who had sent it. The package was more likely to contain something Bob had left at the office than any sort of gift.

With the layer of paper gone, Bob was faced with a dark brown leather box tooled delicately with a golden pattern around the edges, and his puzzlement deepened. It looked for all the world like a jewellery box and briefly he wondered whether this item was meant for Mary, although he couldn’t imagine Scrooge going to purchase women’s adornments, or where an Earth he would have been able to do that on Christmas Day. Smiling a little at the thought, Bob opened the box to find out what surprise lay in store.

And a surprise it certainly was. Bob felt his jaw slide open once more and this time didn’t bother to make the effort to close it, as he stared at the golden pocket watch nestled comfortably in the red velvet of the box. The black numerals on its crisp white face stared out at him impassively. Picking it up gently, he turned it over and caught a sudden breath as he examined the back, which was etched with the same pattern as the box, an inter-looping scroll of lines that caught and held the eye as it tried to trace the pattern. At one moment he thought he caught an image, of leaves or flowers perhaps, but soon that was lost and replaced by another - perhaps birds, or snakes, or even a smiling face. It was mesmerising and the most beautiful thing Bob had ever seen.

And it wasn’t the first time he had seen it.

*

_1 December, 1841_

Bob trudged slowly up the snow-sodden road to the office; for once he was early to get to work and was determined not to arrive one second before (and certainly not after) he was expected. He wouldn’t spend any time longer at _Scrooge & Marley _than he absolutely had to in order to secure his pay and continued employment.

It was the beginning of December and already Bob was worried about affording the festivities, with a goose and all the trimmings to be bought as well as presents for the children to somehow be procured. He didn’t give a thought to himself, although he was unhappy he could get nothing for Mary, but they had agreed when Tim was born and times became so straitened that they could no longer afford to think of themselves first, if at all.

As Bob ambled along, idly glancing in the windows of shops and offices to pass the time and try to avoid thinking of the interminable day ahead, a new display at the jeweller’s caught his eye. They must have put it up to entice shoppers for the Christmas season, with bright baubles surrounded by holly, ivy and mistletoe. However, it wasn’t the Christmas decoration or any of the rings or necklaces that drew Bob’s attention, but a gold pocket watch, perched right at the front of the window as if eager to be purchased. It was displayed case outwards and it was clear this was aimed not at someone who particularly wanted to tell the time, but at someone who wanted to own something beautiful. The gold shone brighter than the sun on this foggy December day, as if emitting its own light, and the pattern etched into the back was so finely wrought Bob thought he could stare at it all day and continue to see something new in it.

Suddenly Bob started as he realised what the time must be, and drew out his own battered silver piece to confirm his fears; he had gone from early to nearly late because of that silly watch and he quickly turned to hurry the last few feet to the office. _Scrooge & Marley _was just down but one and across the road from the jeweller’s shop and if either of his employers caught him tardy as a consequence of staring in a shop window, there would be hell to pay indeed.

“Good morning Mr. Scrooge, Mr. Marley,” Bob called as he entered, hurriedly divesting himself of his coat, scarf and hat and nearly jogging into the next room to receive his tasks for the day.

In it he found only Scrooge, who stared at him contemplatively just long enough to make Bob uncomfortable before stating, “How kind of you to grace me with your presence at last, Mr. Cratchit.” Bob bristled silently at this - he wasn’t _late,_ but somehow just on the dot of eight o’clock was never good enough for Scrooge, who he almost never saw arrive or leave. “Mr Marley has gone to the bank for a meeting. You will find two letters to transcribe on your desk. Three copies of each please, by twelve o’clock, if you would be so good.” The last was said with mocking politeness and a knowing, sardonic smile.

“Yes, sir,” Bob mumbled and nodded before swiftly turning towards his own desk, trying to stay impassive and not let his resentment bubble to the surface. He had gotten much practice at this and yet it did not seem to get any easier as the years passed.

After that morning, he left the house early each day he could. He told himself it was for a more relaxed walk to work, to start the day in a better mood _(always quickly ruined, so why bother?,_ a sly voice said at the back of head), but truly it was to take a moment to stare at the beautiful watch he had no glimpse of a hope of ever owning. Part of it is out of spite, to think somehow he is making his employers wait for him, although this is only an illusion for he never lets himself arrive a moment later than expected again. The greater part, however, is that he has so little beauty in his life for beauty’s sake that something in the watch is like a balm, and everything feels a little easier to bear when he’s basked in its sunshine for a moment.

Lord knows, there’s little enough real sunshine to be had in London in December that Bob feels justified in taking what he can get.

He followed his new routine again on Christmas Eve, through the thronging people humming with excitement, but stopped short at the window he had begun thinking of as “his”.

The watch was gone.

It was replaced by something silver, with a small detail of roses on the case, and for a moment Bob felt entirely bereft. He tried to laugh at himself after a moment; it was only a watch after all, and so fine that of course someone with far greater means than him was likely to buy it at some point. In fact, Bob thought, it was surprising that it had taken them until Christmas Eve to do it.

And yet, despite what he told himself, he walked into work that day with a downcast heart.

*

Bob remembered now that Scrooge had been acting faintly out of sorts on that day, though not quite as oddly as this past Christmas Eve. Marley had not been in the office, as he never was at that time of the year, being obliged to spend Christmas with an old maiden aunt (not out of any sense of love or charity of course, but rather because he hoped for an inheritance upon her death). Whenever they had exchanged words, Scrooge had looked as if he was just on the verge of saying something further, but whatever he was contemplating was never spoken. He’d even let Bob go at three o’clock, as promised, though not without another one of those curious, considering looks.

The thought crept up on him that Scrooge must have bought the watch then, intending to give it to Bob but never quite managing to make the leap to that great kindness. He must have noticed, as he noticed everything that went on in that street, how Bob had stopped each morning to look, and guessed correctly that it hadn’t been a necklace or a ring that had drawn him in so inexorably. As quickly as this could cross his mind, he dismissed it – there was no way that Scrooge, as he had been before, would have been moved to make that gesture.

 _And yet,_ insinuated Bob’s traitorous brain, _how could he have purchased anything on Christmas Day for delivery before cock crow on the twenty-sixth_?

*

“Bob, the children and I are visiting my cousin tomorrow. Will you join us now that you’re...free...until starting with Mr Thwaites?”

“Hmmm.”

“I thought we could return to the winter fair, and perhaps buy some oranges after our recent windfall?”

“Mmmm.”

“And then I thought perhaps I would sell our little Tim for some magic beans to see if we can’t grow a beanstalk and climb up to the moon.”

“Hmmm...” Bob continued his whittling for a moment, lost deep in his thoughts, until Mary’s last comment finally reached the small part of him that was actually listening to her. “...wait, what did you say?” he frowned.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Mary smiled at him in exasperation and no little confusion. All morning he had been distracted, only speaking in response to her or the children, picking things up and putting them down as if just seeking something to do with his hands while his mind whirred on. It seemed to her that now of all times he should feel content, having left Scrooge’s employ and been given a generous severance payment to boot, but the morning’s delivery had only left him more unsettled than when they were so desperately wondering how to make ends meet. Now the children were playing upstairs and Mary thought it high time she found out what was happening in her husband’s head, though she feared she wouldn’t like it when she did.

“It’s Scrooge -”

Before he could get any further, Mary couldn’t resist rolling her eyes and exploding with, “Yes, of course it’s Scrooge, it’s always bloody Scrooge, but what of him _now_ has got you so worried? He’s sent you on your way with much more than we ever dreamed of – that being n _othing,_ with probably some nasty words for good measure – and still you’re giving your precious time worrying over that bastard of a man?”

Bob sighed, feeling Mary’s eyes blazing before he even looked up to meet them. “Yes,” he admitted. “I know it’s... _ridiculous,_ and honestly I wish I could just let it go, but -” He sighed again, unsure how to convey everything he had been ruminating upon – the oddness of Scrooge’s abrupt change of heart, the gift, and the closure of the business he had worked so hard for over the last decade.

“Is it something to do with what he sent you? What was it?” Mary regarded him shrewdly, ever seeing to the heart of the matter.

“It was nothing, just as I told you,“ Bob muttered, bending to his whittling again to avoid her gaze, “only the cheque as he said, and a reference and...” now it was Bob’s turn to sigh, “a gift.”

Bob could feel Mary’s eyebrows raise without even looking up. “A gift?” The incredulity in her voice was almost palpable.

“Yes. A watch,” Bob responded tersely.

“And now you’ve had your head turned by a bauble, and forgotten all he’s done before?” Mary’s voice rose as she spoke, warming to her indignation. “And they say women are fickle,” she muttered under her breath.

“No, no, it’s only...” Bob paused briefly, reluctant to share the full story of the watch and unsure why, then continued, “It’s only that it’s all so odd, and I can’t just forget all about it, much as I might want to. It’s not every day your employer who professes to hate all of humanity, and seems to wish that it hate him in return, suddenly barges into your house in his dressing gown and gives you a small fortune.” Bob met Mary’s eyes and the storm of their argument broke before it even began as they shared a look acknowledging the ludicrousness of what had happened.

As they both paused to consider, Mary’s gaze turned contemplative. The silence deepened and Bob was on the verge of asking for her thoughts when she seemed to reach a decision – Bob recognised the look of steely resolve in her eyes – and said softly, “Go.”

“What?” Bob frowned at her.

“ _Go_ , go to see that man and ask him your questions.” She barrelled across the protestations Bob was attempting. “I know you and I know you won’t rest until you have an answer on this. Go and talk to him – hopefully you’ll then find what you seek and we can move _on_.” Mary smiled at him in understanding, taking any judgement from the words as much as she could.

“Thank you,” Bob smiled. “You really are the best and most understanding wife a man could ask for.” His smile stretched to a grin as she rolled her eyes again, but could not keep the pleasure from her face.

“I hope you remember that, and on your head be it when you return from bearing his rudeness one more unnecessary time,” shot Mary in parting as she rose to finally see to the dishes from their meal.

“I will remember and take every time you say you told me so with grace,” Bob gave a short and sarcastic bow as he sprang up and grabbed his coat, Mary’s laughter chasing him out the door into the frosty afternoon.

*

A short time later, Bob stood on the street corner, contemplating his next move. He had made _Scrooge & Marley_ his first port of call; Scrooge had said he would close the business, but there would be work to be done to reach that end, so logic had led Bob to try the office first. He huffed a small, mirthless laugh to himself as the thought of logic recalled their conversation of just two days previously. Scrooge, he thought, would be pleased at his analytical approach.

Bob could see no light in the office, but supposed that old habits must die hard and the absence didn’t necessarily mean that Scrooge wasn’t within, and so he crossed the road with a nervousness he tried his best to ignore. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for a second on the threshold with a deep breath and a brief prayer, before turning the handle and stepping in.

He paused in the entrance hall and all seemed so still that for a moment he thought he had made a mistake, but then he perceived what seemed to be the faint scratching of a pen from the other room. The sound would easily have been lost if all around had not been deathly silence. Bob took another breath and almost turned around and walked out despite the confirmation; for hadn’t Mary been right, and wasn’t it most likely that he would come away from this encounter disheartened as usual?

As he was waging this silent war within himself, the decision was made for him. The scratching stilled and he heard the scrape of a chair, followed by footsteps drawing nearer as Scrooge called, “Who’s there?” He seemed about to add to this, but whatever was to follow died in a wordless noise of astonishment as Scrooge rounded the corner and came face to face with Bob. They both stared at each for a moment and despite the meeting being Bob’s intent, it would have been difficult for a stranger to tell who was the more surprised.

“It’s me, Mr. Scrooge.” Inwardly, Bob rolled his eyes at the stupidity of this statement. It was perhaps a testament to a true change in Scrooge’s nature that he did no more than let a fleeting look of amusement cross his face, rather than mocking Bob aloud for proclaiming what was patently obvious. Bob took his chance to move past this and hurriedly added, “I mean, I’ve come to see you. No,” he frowned, “I mean, of course I have, being that I’m here, I just – I wanted -”

Taking pity on him (again, not something he was ever wont to do before), Scrooge interrupted Bob’s rambling to offer, “Would you like to come in? Properly, I mean, and sit down. I’m sure we have some tea somewhere...” he trailed off uncertainly and was not, Bob noticed, quite able to meet his eyes. However, at least this was a footing Bob felt more even on, having been the tea boy when the rare occasion arose that a visitor came to the office who was deemed important enough for refreshments, and he grasped it wholeheartedly.

“We do,” he replied at once. After a small hesitation, he added, “I know where everything is. I can make it.” The temptation to add “sir” to the end of his sentence was strong and he was proud of himself for resisting it.

Scrooge looked somewhat unhappy at this turn of events (this was, in contrast, not an uncommon occurrence), but gave a short nod of acquiescence. He turned back to his office and Bob began busying himself with the tea things, trying not to consider how strange this all was or to wonder whether coming had indeed been a mistake.

Having boiled the water in the smallest fire it was possible to make in the hall – it seems that Scrooge’s habits died hard even with him – Bob was surprised to find a much larger fire starting to roar in the main room. There must have been at least six or seven lumps of coal in the grate, which was completely unprecedented in Scrooge’s office. While Marley had lived there had always been a modest fire in winter as there was in the hall that served as Bob’s office, but since his death Scrooge had taken to not laying a fire at all more often than not, either hardly noticing the cold or suffering through it very silently. Bob supposed for a moment it must have been the latter, before Scrooge spoke as if reading his thoughts.

“I can do without a fire, but I thought you might prefer the warmth.” This time he entirely avoided Bob’s eyes, staring only into the flames as he stoked them with the poker.

“Yes, thank you, sir.” Bob winced at the slip, but he was so used to grasping any small kindness with the utmost politesse that he hadn’t had time to check himself. Anyway, Scrooge did not seem to have noticed.

Bob set the tea tray down and busied himself with the pouring, trying to restrain himself from making any more inane comments at least until the business at hand was complete. Pleasingly, he succeeded, but then they were left with two cups of tea and nothing more to do than stare uncomfortably at each other – or, in Scrooge’s case, at slightly to the left of Bob’s ear, with only the occasional flicker of his eyes towards Bob’s actual face. While Bob wondered a bit hysterically if this was more or less disconcerting that the man’s usual direct stare, he realised that his small respite was over and that as the person who had turned up unannounced, he really would be the one to have to start the conversation.

Clearing his throat, Bob began, “I wanted to say thank you -” At this, Scrooge did suddenly meet his gaze, a thousand different things passing through it at once, and he opened his lips to speak. Ignoring this, Bob barrelled on, knowing that if he did not say his piece now, he never would: “I wanted to say thank you, in person. I don’t know how you knew that I was planning to resign, but five hundred pounds is a more than generous leaving payment. Frankly, even the character was more than I expected.” Bob left a pointed _from you_ unsaid, and again felt momentarily proud for his restraint. “With a reference such as you wrote, I could secure practically any clerking job in the city, if not an even better position.”

As Bob paused for breath and thought, Scrooge took the opportunity to jump in. “It is at least as much as you deserve, Mr. Cratchit.” In his voice Bob detected an undercurrent of deep feeling tightly restrained, but was somewhat too distracted to parse it properly. _Mr._ Cratchit, now _that_ was new indeed. “I-”

Again Bob interrupted, unable to let the conversation move forward without raising his last and most pressing item. “But what I really wanted to talk about was the watch, Mr. Scrooge.” At this, Scrooge’s gaze slid away again to the fire. “This might sound – I don’t know – mad,” Bob proceeded slowly, choosing his words with care, “but I thought I recognised it.” He finished his sentence softly, leaving the rest up to Scrooge.

Slowly, reluctantly, Scrooge looked up at him from the fire. “Yes, well...” he sighed, “You would be right.”

*

_23 December, 1841_

Scrooge, being observant in all things, had not failed to notice his clerk’s dawdling at the trinket shop each morning before work. He resented it as much as he could resent something that Bob did during what was technically his own time (which was nonetheless a great deal) and inwardly rolled his eyes each time he saw Bob stop before the Christmas window. _Dress anything up with tinsel and greenery during December and people become like magpies_ , he thought with despair. And yet…

And yet he couldn’t help being curious as to what bauble drew Cratchit in every single morning; while Scrooge was loathe to compliment anyone, even in the privacy of his own thoughts, he had always thought the man reasonably level-headed and not particularly covetous. Besides which, they didn’t pay the man nearly enough to dream of affording even the smallest of the shop’s contents.

Perhaps this curiosity was what drew him in that afternoon, and almost without conscious thought he found himself in front of the window, looking for the item that so attracted his normally sensible clerk.

It didn’t take him long to find the culprit. While possibly Cratchit had been longing to buy his wife a piece of jewellery far beyond his means, Scrooge knew that all people were selfish at heart and it must be the pocket watch the man had been eyeing. It _was_ a beautiful specimen, Scrooge grudgingly admitted to himself, tooled most delicately in a design it was hard to draw the eye away from. It was even rather soothing to keep following the whorls and curlicues round and round, never quite finding an end but rather a new pattern instead.

Again seemingly without making a decision, he stepped through the door of the shop and it was the work of a moment to make his purchase and hurry off into the night to his dark and empty house. The long night ahead gave him ample time to wonder exactly what the hell he had been thinking.

The next day as Scrooge shrugged on his coat, he felt the weight of the watch in his pocket and even when he divested himself of the garment, he could somehow still feel it burning a hole in his pocket from across the office. He would get as far as opening his mouth or standing up from his chair and berate himself for the stupid notion that he wouldn’t even let himself fully acknowledge. Finally, exhausted from this and from bloody Fred’s annual visit, he even let Cratchit go at three o’clock on the dot.

Better lose an hour of work than betray his principles with an action he knew he would come to regret.

On arriving home again, he slammed the watch in a drawer with more force than was strictly necessary and forgot almost all about it for two long years.

*

“You _did_ buy it then, two years ago,” Bob stated, pleased to have his suspicions confirmed but no less confused by it. “But _why_?” he frowned.

“I don’t know. Or I didn’t then. Or I didn’t _want_ to know,“ Scrooge laughed without mirth. “I’m sorry it took so long to make it’s way to you.” Scrooge sighed, finishing in a near whisper as he held Bob’s gaze, “I am very sorry indeed, Mr. Cratchit.”

Somehow, Bob didn’t think he was only referring to the watch.

There was a pregnant silence, in which Scrooge returned his gaze to the fire once more, as if unable to bear Bob’s look for too long, and Bob himself took the opportunity to study Scrooge further. As he did so, Bob came to a decision. “Why are you closing the business?”

Scrooge looked up again with surprise. “I would thought you of all people would understand. You know what we’ve done, Jacob and I. It cannot continue.” For the first time that afternoon Scrooge seemed animated with feeling, eyes burning like the coals he began to stoke.

“But -” Bob huffed in frustration, “You want to – to help people now, don’t you? To be better?”At least, that’s what he’d taken away from Scrooge’s mad speech the day before. Once Bob had started, he couldn’t stop the torrent of words that flowed free, casting out the thoughts that had been going round and round his head for the last day. “If you close the business, your holdings will be sold off to someone who may be just as bad, or they will be closed and people will lose their livelihoods. Why not just improve what you are doing? And thereby improve these people’s lives? Then you can use some of the profits to do further good,” he finished eagerly.

Scrooge looked at him contemplatively, seeming to forget his earlier reticence. “Do you think that is...possible?” he queried slowly. “Could we improve conditions and still turn a profit?”

Although Scrooge appeared to almost be questioning himself rather than Bob, he couldn’t resist a response. “I _know_ we could,” Bob declared, hardly aware that he included himself in the statement. He bounced up out of his seat with barely contained zeal, gesturing for permission at the business’s latest ledger which lay on Scrooge’s desk. At Scrooge’s nod, he grabbed the book along with the pencil beside it and made a rough accounting of the finances as he saw them as well as estimates of expenditure on reasonable improvements to the assets and triumphantly ended with the books still in the black, even accounting for a certain number of unforeseen expenses.

Scrooge considered his work. Bob waited, as if for the verdict of a schoolteacher, triumph dissolving into nervousness the longer the silence stretched. He nearly jumped when Scrooge finally spoke.

“You’ve thought about this before,” the other man said slowly, seemingly coming to the conclusion as he spoke.

Bob shifted guiltily. “Yes,” he admitted. A little voice protested that he didn’t owe Scrooge anything, but still he felt the urge to explain. “I got to know the finances well in copying down the records, and by hearing you and Mr. Marley talking. And I suppose...I began to have my own ideas about things.” Again, he shifted uncomfortably.

“We weren’t paying you to have ideas, though, were we?” Scrooge responded, still studying the calculations, and Bob flinched a little at the words. Although they weren’t delivered with as much bite as the man usually employed, perhaps there was only so far a man could change after all. Bob had resolved that the visit had been a mistake after all and to make his excuses when Scrooge continued, “But it seems we should have been.”

Bob blinked at him in surprise.

“I know I have no right to ask this,” Scrooge said slowly, “but would you consider...remaining with the business to help employ these measures? Not as a clerk,” he hurried to add, “...but as a partner?” He gave the ghost of a smile. “There has been a vacancy for some time, after all.”

Bob blinked again, and wondered vaguely if it was possible to die of shock. A multitude of words seemed to be gathering in his throat, so many that he couldn’t seem to get even one of them out.

Scrooge appeared to be taking his silence as disinclination, drawing himself back into his chair; it was only then that Bob realised how closely he had been leaning towards the other man as he had explained his ideas. “Of course,” Scrooge continued softly, “I understand why you wouldn’t want-”

“No!” Bob exclaimed without thinking, regretting his choice of word at Scrooge’s wince. “I mean, I do want to. Yes, I...accept,” he finished, at a loss as to what came next.

For a moment Scrooge gave him that inscrutable, considering look of his before a small smile hesitantly spread across his face. Bob smiled back uncertainly, still marvelling that this exchange was actually taking place. “Good,” Scrooge stated. “Thank you. We’ll sort everything out in the new year – that seems appropriate, I think. I’ll organise a contract with the solicitor in the meantime. Shall I see you on the second of January for our new beginning?” He seemed slightly nervous, as if waiting for Bob to change his mind.

But Bob was certainly not going to do anything of the sort; opportunities of partnership in a successful business were not something offered to the likes of him as a regular occurrence and he wasn’t about to turn that down, despite the strange circumstances.

“Yes,” Bob replied decisively. “The second of January. Thank you,” he finished, still unable to find more than the most basic words. Bob was relieved to suddenly notice the encroaching darkness and hurriedly begged his leave. Following an awkward dance of overly polite goodbye-ing, Bob found himself once again upon the snowy street.

He took a deep breath of the cold air and was grateful for it, tinged with smog and smoke though it was. He set off homewards and, despite some reservations about whether a man could really change so much in the course of two days, he felt a cautious sense of hope. After all, he himself felt like a completely different person to the one who had left the office on Christmas Eve, now being £500 richer with a watch worthy of any gentleman and a position several rungs higher on the employment ladder. Wait until Mary heard -

 _Oh Lord_ , he thought. _Mary_. _She’s going to kill me._

He stopped in his tracks and almost turned his feet from home entirely as he considered what she was going to say when he returned and told her what he had agreed to. From the very beginning she had always hated Scrooge much more than he himself had and just as she thought they were shot of him, Bob had voluntarily agreed to keep the man in their lives. He knew she would forgive him eventually, but fervently prayed that his decision would prove worth it.

Only time would tell if that prayer would be answered.

**Author's Note:**

> I've made it the first in a series (the series title is a bit of a placeholder atm) as I maaay write more on this. I'm very tempted to follow their journey and how it would look for Scrooge to attempt to navigate being a better man with Bob's help, and Bob learning how to move in a different world as well, and it maaay end up being Bob/Ebenezar. I mean, they're both so beautiful and I feel the hurt/comfort opportunities ABOUND, which I'm a total sucker for. I don't want to do any disrespect to Mary though, so we'll see.


End file.
